


i can't read your mind (but you'll share your thoughts anytime)

by Phoenix_Allura (Artemis_Autumn_Marie)



Series: Nix's Thominho Week 2019 [6]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Fanart, Getting Together, Honestly it's more comfort than hurt, Hurt Minho, Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Knives, M/M, POV Alternating, Poor Thomas, Scarring, Scars, Telepathy, Thominho Week, Thominho Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 07:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Autumn_Marie/pseuds/Phoenix_Allura
Summary: This is for Thominho Week. It's for Day Six and ended up being a lot later and a lot longer than I planned.Thomas just wants to run.Everyone else says no, one more empathetically than others.Thomas runs anyway.Minho thinks that this Greenie might be the death of him.'...' Indicates telepathy





	i can't read your mind (but you'll share your thoughts anytime)

Minho heard the distant Box alarm go off and pushed himself harder; if he could still hear it at this time of day, he wasn't going fast enough. Besides, it always gave him a headache, and this time was no exception with the pressure building in his head.  
'Where am I?' What? He knew where he was. He must be imagining the questions the Greenie would ask. Maybe he needed to take a day off.  
'Can anyone hear me?'  
Okay, that was even weirder.  
'Please, can you hear me?' Minho rolled his eyes. He must be going crazy.  
'Yes.' He thought back. 'Now stop distracting me, I'm Running the Maze and don't want to die.'  
'Okay.' A pause. 'For what it's worth, I don't want you to die either.' Minho snorted to himself and the pressure at the back of his mind lifted. Whomever he had been speaking to had left the conversation.  
Minho continued his run. He'd have to meet the Greenie later--oh shuck. Shuck, that was a Griever. Lying there. Unmoving.  
Maybe he should poke it.  
Or maybe that was a horrible idea.

He turned around and headed back for the Glade.  
He'd be meeting the Greenie sooner than he thought.

Thomas watched the boy sprinting out of the Maze.  
"That's Minho," Chuck explained. "I better go get Alby, he's never back this early." Minho collapsed against the tree Thomas was standing next to.  
"Make yourself useful, shank, grab me some water." His voice was raspy, but there could be no doubt: This was the one he'd been talking to when he came up in the Box.  
"I've got your water, Minho." Panicking suddenly, wondering if he'd be allowed to stay for this conversation (which much be important; Minho had come back early), he tried thinking at Minho again.  
'Make sure he lets me stay. I want to know what's going on.' Minho gave him an odd look, causing Alby to start to wave him off.  
"No, let him stay. Best time for a Greenie to learn is immediately. Give me a minute, though, and I'll tell you all about the dead Griever."  
"Dead Griever?" That had Alby's attention quickly. Thomas was now an afterthought. He sank down in the grass next to Minho, only to feel a nudge in his mind.  
'Don't know why you want to stay, shank, but you're da boss.'  
'Thanks.'  
'What's your name, Greenie?'  
'Thomas.'  
'Well, Thomas, listen up.' The nudging was gone; Minho had left his mind.  
"It was just lying there like it was dead. I poked it, kicked it, and got no reaction. I've never seen anything like it, Alby."  
Alby was frowning.  
"I need to check this out."  
"I can take you tomorrow morning. It's too late to go back now."  
"Yes, and it's too late for the Greenie's tour."  
"I'll take him, Alby. It's been a while since I've led a Greenie around."  
"When?"  
"Right now." Thomas scrambled to his feet as Minho got up more gracefully.  
"He's got the speed of a Runner, that's for sure." Alby chuckled.  
"You know how many people you got on the waiting list?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I know. How many people does it take to run the Glade, Alby?"  
"We could spare a few. Why?"  
"It'd be a good test, to have trainees Run with one of our experienced Runners for a week. Then we could rule them out if we had to. If you recall, no one ever goes for a day with the Runners."  
"It's too dangerous."  
"Nah, it's been fine before. But we can argue later. I've gotta show Greenie here around, remember?" Minho walked away with no further words, and Thomas followed.  
'Alright, Greenie, we're gonna see if we can do this and talk at the same time.'  
"Those are the gardens. Zart's the Keeper there."  
'I think we can.' Thomas tried to concentrate on Minho's spoken words and his surroundings while also carrying on a conservation across minds.  
"What are you telling him, Minho?" Newt was back, and he was laughing. "Tommy's gone bloody white!" Minho turned to look at him; Thomas was feeling dizzy now.  
"Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?" Minho was frowning at him, now, and Thomas didn't know why that upset him.  
"I think Alby scared him, with his 'ask no questions or else' schtick."  
"Well, I don't know how effective that tour was, but we tried. Come on, Greenie, let's get you to the Medjacks."  
'It wasn't working for you to focus on three things at once, was it? I'm sorry about that. I'm so used to everything in the Glade that I don't have to think about it anymore.' Minho grabbed one of his arms.  
"I've got him, Newt." Newt walked with them anyway, talking the whole time. Thomas wasn't as dizzy now.  
"He'll be fine, you worrywarts." The Medjack told them. "Just a combination of too much all at once and not eating today."  
"How do you know he hasn't eaten?" Minho asked.  
"He showed up after lunch and he didn't throw up. Without fail, all the kids who have eaten have thrown up. He should eat a light dinner and then go to sleep. His tour will have to be completed tomorrow." Thomas just sat quietly and drank his water.  
'We're figuring this out tomorrow, okay?' Minho said.  
"Sounds good. Newt'll have to finish up your tour, Greenie, and get you started working."  
"He can start here. We only have the two of us and it would useful to have a trainee in the event anything happens."  
"You just want to keep an eye on him." Newt didn't sound accusing. The Medjack shrugged.  
"Shuck yeah. If I'm wrong and this isn't just something simple, then it needs to be watched."  
"Fair enough. Come on, Tommy, off to dinner we go." Thomas stood under his own power.  
"Tommy?" Minho asked Newt. "His name is Tommy?"  
"Well, his name is Thomas. I call him Tommy."  
"Alright, Newt," Minho said. "You good to walk, Thomas?"  
"Yes," Thomas said firmly. He was feeling fine now.  
"Then let's go." Newt and Minho walked on either side of him, to make sure he didn't fall or something.  
"Hey! Good to see you at last, Greenie. I'm Frypan."  
"He's a great cook," Minho assured Thomas. 'Watch out for hair in your food, though.' It didn't seem to have taken Minho long to figure out how to work this thing. They got their food and Chuck joined them, sitting next to Thomas.  
"So, Thomas, didja like your tour?" Thomas didn't have time to answer; Chuck was already rambling on. He exchanged an amused look with Minho and Newt.  
'He's always like this, isn't he?' Thomas thought at Minho. 'No, don't answer that, I know the answer.' Minho chuckled in his mind.  
'You'll get used to it. He's like a really annoying little brother. Finish up and I can take you to get your bed set up.'  
"I'm taking Thomas to get his sleeping stuff all set up." Minho stood, taking his tray with him.  
"Outside or in?" Newt asked.  
"We've got empty rooms in the Homestead." Was Minho's reply. "But really, I think that depends on him. There's no rule saying he can't try both. Inside tonight?" Minho looked at Thomas, so he nodded.  
"Protective already, Minho?" Newt smirked at them. "It has been a while since you've taken a Greenie under your wing." Minho glared at him.  
"Alright, Greenie, let's go."  
'The faster we get into the Homestead the faster we can figure this out.' Thomas followed Minho, keeping a half-step behind.  
"So, why do you think we can do this?" Minho asked as soon as they were alone.  
"Clearly the Creators gave it to us."  
"But why?" Thomas shrugged.  
"Maybe we were dating or something? I don't know."  
"You think we were dating? That'd put you at thirteen at the time and me at fourteen. If we even knew each other."  
"I really don't know, Minho." Thomas shook his head.  
'Maybe we should just practice instead.' He tried, sitting on the bed of the room Minho had led him to. It was more of a cot, really.  
'It'd be good to see how far this ranges.' Minho replied, leaning against the door. To anyone outside, it would seem as if Minho was giving the Greenie a last few words of advice before leaving him to sleep. 'It would be useful to have someone in the Glade who can know what's happening in the Maze.'  
'That means telling everyone about this.' Thomas thought that would be a horrible idea; Gally, at least, already hated him.  
'Yeah, no. We'll just have to try and work something else out. You still look pale, Thomas, go to sleep now. We can test distance tomorrow while I'm in the Maze.'  
'I guess. Goodnight, Minho.' Minho shut the door and Thomas got himself into bed.

Thomas was being dragged--no, carried.  
That was the first thing he registered when he woke up.  
The second was that there was a hand over his mouth.  
"Keep quiet, Greenie." A voice hissed into his ear. "I've seen you before. You came to help them. You came to ruin everything." Thomas didn't know who was kidnapping him. Then he remembered the link he had with Minho.  
'MINHO!' He screamed the word, loud as he could, in his head, reaching for the connection point between himself and Minho.  
"And here I hoped you would behave." His captor hit him across the back of the head, hard.  
Thomas wasn't aware enough to answer Minho's irritated question when it came.

He stirred to the sound of thunking. He opened his eyes slowly. He was tied to a tree, hands high above his head, and the sun was just rising. He was gagged with a piece of rough cloth.  
"Oh good, you're awake." His captor yanked a knife--so that's what he'd been throwing--out of the tree next to him.  
"I keep seeing you, you know." He pressed the tip of the knife to Thomas's face. "You messed up everything. You ruined it. So I'm going to ruin you." A crazed look lit up the boy's face.  
Thomas.knew who he was now.  
This was Ben, the one who had been stung.  
"I was thinking you wouldn't wake up until tonight, but this is much more fun. Now they can search and find your mutilated body." Ben starting sliding the knife under his skin--diagonal from the middle of his forehead. cutting through his eyebrow and just missing his left eye. Thomas, evening out his breath and fighting against the pain, decided to try contacting Minho again.  
'Minho! I'm in the Deadheads, tied to a tree!' A slice across his cheek made him lose his focus.  
"It must hurt very much, bring sliced open like this," Ben said it casually, as though he wasn't leaving wounds sure to scar all across the left half of Thomas's face. As he made a new cut, Thomas slumped, only his wrists holding him up. The knife only went farther up his face.  
"I'm not going to take your eye, Thomas, because you've been good and haven't screamed."  
'Minho, hurry, he's going to kill me.' Thomas closed his eyes.  
'We're coming, Thomas! Stay alive!' Thomas didn't answer. He didn't have the energy to move and he was losing blood quickly. Even if Ben didn't slash his throat or stab him in the heart, he'd bleed out before long.  
(Thinking only dulled the pain a little bit.)  
Thomas didn't try to open his eyes again. The left one was covered in blood, anyway.  
It wouldn't have mattered.  
(When Gally, the first to arrive on scene, got there, he was certain he was too late.)  
(It was utter chaos until Thomas opened his right eye, because Gally might not like the guy, but shuck, he didn't deserve this.)  
"Gally?" Thomas regretted trying to speak. It just meant that his mouth filled with blood.  
"Yeah, Greenie." He cracked Ben over the head. "Minho's not far behind me. I'm going to untie you." Thomas nodded and closed his eye again. He was tired and his face was pulsing, each heartbeat sending a new wave of pain to rack through his body. Gally untied his arms but didn't let go of them, carefully pulling one over his neck to keep Thomas standing.  
It didn't work very well.  
Thomas collapsed with pain at the movement, knees buckling, pulling Gally down with him as he fell. Gally ended up with one knee pressed the ground as he tried to get Thomas back up.  
Minho, thankfully, found them soon after.  
"Take his other arm," Gally said.  
"Shuck, it's worse than I thought it would be." Minho kneeled the same way Gally had, and together they got Thomas to his uncooperative feet.  
(They each had at least two inches on Thomas, so his feet half-dangled anyway.)  
"Did you find him?" Newt was asking.  
"Yes. Chuck, run and tell the Medjacks to be ready, and send the Baggers out here." How many of the Gladers were here? Thomas decided he didn't have the energy to care a moment later when Minho and Gally started moving.  
(Pain, he found, drained more energy out of him than anything else.)  
"We need to move quickly, he's losing blood fast," Newt said.  
"It might be easier if one of us carried him bridal-style." One of his arms was dropped, and his legs were lifted into the air.  
"You got him, Minho?"  
"Yep." Thomas pressed the right side of his face softly into Minho's shoulder. "It won't be long now, Thomas." He murmured. Thomas thought he was passing out, but he wasn't sure.  
(He was definitely passing out.)  
(He would wake up as they were bandaging his face and find out that he'd refused to let go of Minho.)  
(Everyone else was kind enough not to mention this ever again.)

Thomas woke up for good a day after he'd been attacked. There was no one in his room. He reached a hand up to touch the bandages that covered the whole left side of his face.  
"Just don't pick at them, okay?" One of the Medjacks walked in. "I'm Clint. You're going to have some scarring when you heal up. It will be a couple of weeks. You're taking it easy until then."  
"What happened to Ben?"  
"We're Banishing him."  
"Banishing?"  
"Shoving him into the Maze right before the doors closed, leaving him to the Grievers. One of our rules is never hurt another Glader, and he broke that one pretty soundly." Thomas nodded. "I'll go grab you some food and let everyone know you're awake. I'm sure Chuck will be happy to fill you in on everything that's happened." Thomas almost rolled his eyes. Chuck would be very enthusiastic about that.  
'So, Thomas, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I just checked on that Griever again. After your whole mess with Ben, Alby decided he'd stay in the Glade to ensure that no one else tries to act out until Ben is Banished. That's tonight. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I did yesterday, and you didn't answer then either.'  
'I'm awake, Minho.' Thomas thought back, grinning with one side of his mouth at the mental spluttering that brought from his friend. 'I just woke up.'  
'Well, I can't tell you much now, I've got to focus on what I'm doing. Perhaps over dinner?'  
'Sounds great, Minho. Don't die!' Thomas released the connection and leaned forward as Chuck came into the room.  
"Clint will be here with food any minute." His eyes didn't leave the bandages. "Not much has happened, really, since you were attacked. Minho's real mad, though, and even Gally is wondering how you're doing. Ben's getting Banished tonight; you don't want to go see it, do you? I hear that it can be pretty gruesome." Chuck sounded more anxious with every word he spoke; it was clear that he didn't want to go see the Banishing.  
"I'm not allowed out of bed, Chuck," Thomas told him.  
"Well, I guess I better stay here with you, tonight, keep you company." Thomas couldn't tell him that it would be Minho keeping him company.  
"I don't know, Chuck, I might be sleeping them. I'm still drained." Clint came in then.  
"Yes, he will be sleeping then, Chuck. And no one other than myself and Jeff are allowed in here until he feels up to visitors. This is an exception." Chuck's shoulders slumped.  
"Maybe Clint can come up with something for you to do during the Banishing." Thomas met Clint's eyes and made sure he understood what was really going on here.  
"Thomas will need fresh bandages every day until he heals. I need someone to cut and roll them for me."  
"I can do that!" Chuck perked right back up.  
"You can stay with Thomas and catch him up while he eats, but after that, I'll have to check on his wounds."  
"Okay." Clint set the tray down on Thomas's lap. He noticed that everything had a straw in it.  
"Frypan made that for you personally, was very concerned with you actually being able to eat it," Clint told him. Chuck sat down in the chair next to his bed and began to ramble as Thomas ate, telling him about the girl who had come up in the Box, mumbling a few words, and that she had fallen into what they guessed was a coma.  
"It's weird, Thomas, there have never been two Greenies in one month." Thomas just nodded along and ate. When he was done, Clint appeared in the doorway.  
"Chuck, could you take the tray back to Frypan? Then go see Jeff, he'll get you started on bandages if you don't have anything else to do."  
"Okay!" Chuck left quickly, and Clint shut the door behind him.  
"This might hurt." Was all the warning Thomas got before the bandages were coming off. It did hurt, but not as badly as being cut up had, so he hardly reacted.  
"Do you want to see what they look like?" Thomas shook his head.  
"I'll see them when they're scars." Clint nodded.  
"The good thing about the girl coming up is that they sent another shipment of supplies with her, including antibiotic cream and healing creams. You did need stitches, I don't suppose you'd remember that. We're asking for more in next week's supplies." Clint leaned over him. "Yeah, keep your left eye closed. This is the antibiotic cream. I don't think you'll get infected, but I'm not leaving it to chance." Clint rubbed the cream in, following the lines Ben had made. "And this is one of the 'quick-healing' creams. It might lessen the scarring, or it might mean we can take the stitches out sooner. Not really sure on that yet." After another few minutes of applying creams and checking stitches, Clint began pasting bandages back on his face.  
"I'm not sure how long you'll need these for, but it'll be at least until the stitches come out. I don't want you picking at them absentmindedly or in your sleep and pulling them out prematurely."  
"Reasonable," Thomas told him. Clint barked out a short laugh.  
"Who knew you could be funny, Greenie?" Thomas hadn't thought it was all that funny, to be honest.  
"And you're done for today. I'll bring you dinner later, you can just sleep, I suppose. Or maybe I can dig up something."  
"We do have books, you know," Newt said dryly, opening the door. "I brought a few. Tommy can read up on spies while he heals." Newt dropped the books lightly on the bed. "Enjoying your pain meds?"  
"I haven't given him any today," Clint interjected. "He doesn't seem to be in much pain, and after the dose we had to give him last night I'd rather not risk it."  
"I'm not in pain right now," Thomas told them.  
"Well, shout when you start feeling pain again. You're going to ache pretty badly for some time." Clint left the room.  
"Have fun reading, Tommy. I'd stay and talk but Ben's been rambling and someone needs to see to him." Newt closed the door, leaving Thomas to his spy books. Well, at least they looked interesting.

"He's been sleeping since early afternoon, at least. He didn't get very far in his book."  
"Then we need to wake him up. He needs to eat, he needs the energy to heal." Minho's voice. "You don't need to change his bandages."  
"I do need to know if he needs pain meds," Clint argued. "You can eat with him after I check that it's okay with him." The door opened and Thomas opened his eye. Yeah, he needed pain meds now.  
"Need some meds?" Clint asked. "You've got that look on your face." Thomas nodded quickly only to squeeze his eye shut. Even nodding hurt now. He took the pills with no fuss. "They'll kick in soon. Minho's outside, wants to eat dinner with you. Is that cool?"  
"Yes." Clint actually sounded concerned, like he would drive Minho away if Thomas said no.  
"Alright, I'll let him in." Minho opened the door at that, holding two trays of food.  
"Hey, Thomas. Feeling better?" Thomas managed half of a weak smile. "I think we'll be fine from here, Clint." Minho glared at Clint.  
"Just remember that you have to be at the Banishing, Minho." Clint's reply was curt, even stern. What was up with this? Minho only nodded, sitting on the bed carefully and handing Thomas his tray.  
"Why do you have to be at the Banishing?" Thomas asked, sipping soup through a straw.  
"I'm the Keeper of the Runners. Keepers are the ones who make sure the Banished stays in the Maze until the Doors close. No sneaking out to see, Thomas, you need to stay here and rest. Clint would agree with me, I’m sure.”  
“Trust me, Minho, I don’t want to go anywhere.”  
“Good that.” Minho seemed relieved. They ate in silence for a while before Thomas spoke into Minho’s mind.  
‘What are you going to do about the Griever?’  
‘Tomorrow I’m taking Alby out to see it. Why? Did you want to go with?’  
‘A little. I’m curious about the Maze.’  
‘Well, you heal up and be a good busy little Glader over the next few weeks, and I’ll see what I can do.’ Thomas smiled his half-smile at him again. He felt like the Maze would be closer to his home than anything else he’d had here so far (well, it hadn’t been a great couple of days, but maybe that would change.).  
‘Tired, Thomas? You keeping yawning.” The note of amusement in Minho’s voice had Thomas smiling again, only to cover it up when it turned into yet another yawn.  
‘I hadn’t noticed.’ He said honestly. ‘It’s odd. I’ve slept most of the day away, and still, I’m tired.’  
‘It might be the pain meds kicking in, too.’ Minho told him. Then, out loud, “Well, I better go. I have to get these back to Frypan and then get into place.” Thomas waved as he left, then settled back into his pillows. Yes, he thought, now would be a good time to take a nap.

Minho led Alby around the Maze.  
'How are you doing?' Thomas had been allowed out of bed this morning, and Minho was worried. What if he ran into something dangerous because he couldn't see it?  
'I'm fine, Minho.' Minho knew where the Griever would be even with the wall change, so finding it wasn't hard.  
'Good. We're at the Griever, got to focus on speaking words now.' He could feel Thomas rolling his eyes, then the connection cut out.  
"It's stayed here for the past couple of days," Minho told him. Alby picked up a stick and poked at it.  
It moved.  
Just a little, and it was backwards.  
"Don't poke it again, Alby." Minho grabbed at Alby's arm to pull him back. "You've seen it, now let's go."  
"It hasn't done that before, has it?" Alby pulled his arm away.  
He poked it again.  
This time it moved forward.  
But it was being slow.  
They had time to get away.  
It lunged.  
Right at Alby.  
Minho yanked him away, scrambling for a way out.  
Alby screamed.  
The Griever stopped moving.  
"How far can you make it?" Minho demanded. They needed to move.  
"I don't know, Minho, let's just run!" Alby snapped back.  
(They made it two corridors away before Alby collapsed.)  
Minho wasn't leaving him behind. If he moved fast enough, they could still get out before the Doors closed.  
Alby would be fine.  
He would be fine.

They were so close. Two turns away. Minho picked up speed. The Doors would be closing soon.  
One turn.  
Minho heard the mechanism of Doors begin to work.  
They had to make it.  
He turned the last corner, exhausted.  
The corridor seemed longer than it ever had.  
There was a crowd waiting for them.  
Thomas was with them. Minho pushed harder.  
'YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE IT!' Minho didn't respond, dragging Alby as fast as he could.  
They weren't going to make it.  
The Doors were almost closed already.  
Thomas was running toward them.  
'NO! STOP!' It was too late.  
Thomas was through the Doors.  
Stuck in the Maze.  
All night.  
They were all dead.

"Congratulations, Thomas, you've just killed yourself." Minho was pissed. That much was clear.  
"We can survive the night, Minho. We can hide Alby and keep on the move."  
"Listen, Greenie, you don't know klunk about the Maze. The Grievers will be running wild any moment now." Minho lifted Thomas by his shirt and pressed him back against the wall.  
(Thomas wasn't reacting to this very much. He was staring at Minho's arms and being generally useless.)  
"All you've done, Greenie, is gotten yourself killed." He dropped Thomas suddenly, like he'd been scalded, then glanced at Alby and shook his head.  
"If I'm stuck here, I'm at least going to make it hard for the Grievers to find me." Minho took off running, leaving Thomas was nothing but the echo of his footsteps and Alby's unconscious form.  
The ivy.  
Alby wasn't dead, not yet, and Thomas might be able to keep the Grievers from getting to him.  
Testing it with his weight first, Thomas began to move Alby up the wall slowly.  
Right arm up a few feet, tie off.  
Right leg, same thing.  
Repeat with the left side and over and over until…  
Until a Griever was rounding the corner.  
Thomas tied Alby off for the last time, hiding him as best as he could while still watching the Griever.  
(That was the hard part: He could only see out of one eye right now. He really hadn't thought this rescue mission through.)  
Thomas waited.  
Waited.  
Breathed, softly.  
In and out.  
The Griever was right below him.  
It started to climb.  
Thomas reached for another vine, bracing his feet against the wall.  
Three feet…  
Two feet…  
Thomas pushed off and scrambled for more vines, cracking his fingers against the stone and his only focus was getting away and he was running across the wall and the Griever was right behind him and shuck there was no more wall!  
He jumped.  
Something in his chest popped.  
He ignored the pain (what he felt, anyway, panic and running for your life really gets the adrenaline pumping.).  
He hauled himself to the top and started sprinting.  
The Griever wasn't to the top yet.  
He thought.  
He hoped.  
He skidded over to the edge, panting, hands grasping at the vines. He had to get down, he had to get down, he had to get down.  
Thomas slid down the vines, burning his hands.  
But he was on the ground.  
The Griever was up there.  
He was safe for a while.  
He ran anyway.  
Another Griever started following him.  
The walls were shifting around him.  
There was a corner.  
This might work.  
(Or he could die.)  
But it might work.  
Thomas stopped.  
Planted his right foot.  
The Griever kept coming.  
Thomas threw himself down the opening corridor and rolled to a stop and finally realized he ached all over but he had to get up he had to keep moving.  
He started to run.  
Something grabbed him.  
He kicked out.  
'HEY!'  
Thomas stopped.  
"Hey, hey, it's me. I saw what you did with that Griever and I have an idea." Minho pulled him along until he got his feet back under him.  
'Follow me. Don't worry about the Grievers. Just follow me.'  
Thomas did.  
But there were so many.  
"This is the Cliff. Brace yourself here, next to me." Thomas stood so his shoulder just touched Minho's.  
'On my mark.' Thomas nodded his acknowledgment.  
The Grievers were getting closer.  
'Now!' Thomas launched himself away from Minho, slamming into the wall hard and turning to watch the Grievers fall.  
If they could disappear and leave like that, why couldn't the Gladers?  
Thomas slid down the wall when they were all gone. Since when has the ground been covered in vines?  
"It isn't… you've got a concussion, don't you." Someone sighed. He knew that voice! He kinda wanted to look and see but also his chest and his hands and head and everything else hurt and he just wanted to curl up and cry so he did.  
"Thomas, what's wrong?!" The voice was alarmed now. "Or are you just crying because it'll make you feel better?"  
Thomas didn't know. The voice kept muttering to him, or itself, and joined him on the ground, carefully laying his head on its lap--wait! This was Minho!  
"Yeah, Thomas, it's me. It's Minho, shank." Minho was laughing, but not at him, he thought. And then there was hand rubbing his back and that felt really good and in this position, his chest didn't really hurt either.  
"When sunrise comes we gotta get moving, alright shank?" He heard Minho say. "I'll set my watch alarm." Thomas tried to nod, but that just hurt his head more, so he tried to use his hands to steady it but that made his hands hurt and moving his arms too much made his chest hurt and then--

Thomas had passed out.  
Not really surprising, given what he had to have done throughout the night, with his hands ripped up and raw, breathing off, and a concussion.  
Wait. Was he supposed to let Thomas sleep if he had a concussion?  
Maybe not. But he also didn't think he'd get Thomas to wake up right now.  
Minho decided he'd try in the morning.  
Thomas had lived this far, anyway, what was another few hours?  
(Minho wasn't thinking right, and he'd realize it later when he wasn't exhausted and coming off an adrenaline high. But it didn't matter right then, since he was half-asleep.)

If a Griever had happened upon them, they would have died.  
Thankfully, that did not happen.

Thomas woke up to a loud beeping. His head was throbbing and his ribs and hands were burning, but he knew where he was.  
“Minho, you have to wake up. It’s almost sunrise. We have to go.” Thomas tried to sit up but found it made the world spin, so he just stayed where he was. ‘Minho! WAKE UP!’ That worked.  
Minho jerked, legs kicking up. It would have been fine if Thomas hadn’t been in his lap.  
“What-- Oh, right, we’re in the Maze. How’s your head feeling?”  
“It’s been better. Let’s just get out of here.”  
“Can you even stand?”  
“I can try.” Thomas pulled himself up using the wall, ignoring the stinging of his hands. Minho stood and stretched.  
“Do you want to try running?” His head might be throbbing, but maybe running--the adrenaline--would help.  
“Yes.”  
“Then keep next to me.” Thomas kept a step behind, so he would know when to turn. Minho didn’t even have to think about the way back, and it didn’t seem to take long. Thomas’s aches all faded slowly away as he ran, even the one in his chest. He had stopped focusing on them.  
“Nearly there. I hope the Grievers didn’t get Alby.”  
“I hid him pretty well,” Thomas said. Minho stopped and Thomas stumbled into him, ribs suddenly screaming.  
“Hid him?”  
“Yeah. I used the vines to get him up the wall and covered him and swung away when a Griever got close.”  
“That’s… I never would have thought of that.” Thomas shrugged then winced, curling in around his ribs.  
“When did you hurt your chest?”  
“Getting away from that Griever. I ran out of wall and jumped to the next one, but didn’t make it all the way. I hit pretty hard and I felt something pop.”  
“Klunk,” Minho swore under his breath. “We’re going to keep moving, but it’s going to be a lot slower now.”  
“No, please, let’s keep running. The adrenaline and endorphins push the pain away.” Minho stared at him for a good minute.  
“You’re not going to let this go?” Thomas shook his head. “Then, against all my better instincts, we’ll do it. But only until we get to the Doors. From there I’ll carry you if I have to.” They started running again. Minho had been right, they won’t far; it only took ten minutes to reach the Doors.  
There was someone there, waiting.  
“THEY’RE HERE! THEY’RE ALIVE!” He shouted, and the Gladers came running.  
“Where’s Alby?” Newt pushed through the crowd.  
“Up there.” Thomas pointed to the place where he had hidden him. “I got him up there and hid him. You’ll have to get him down.”  
“Yes, you will,” Minho confirmed. “Because we need medical attention, food, and sleep, in that order.” He took Thomas’s arm. “Looks like you and Clint are going to be real good friends.”

“He broke the rules.” Someone was saying. Minho glanced over at Thomas; they’d both ended up passing out in the Medhut.  
“He also saved Alby,” Newt argued. “And are we going to forget that he did it with a bandage blocking one eye? That’s he’s been hurt before, in the Glade, and his first instinct was still to go help?”  
“He got hurt in the Maze, too. Pretty badly for what we usually deal with.” Clint said. “Dislocated ribs, two fingers broken, hands scraped completely raw, a mild concussion.”  
“He’s the one who gave me the idea to trick the Grievers.” Minho’s voice was hoarse. “He was being chased, and the walls were shifting. He planted his foot and waited, then leapt into the opening corridor. The Griever ran into the wall and didn’t follow. We used the same thing to get them to jump off the Cliff.”  
“So he can think on the spot.” And of course, it was Gally. “I like the Greenie, I do, but I’m just saying. We can’t set a precedent for this.”  
“So when he heals, he spends a night in the Slammer,” Frypan said. “Hey, Minho, we called an impromptu Gathering and held it here in hopes you’d wake up. Anything you want to say?”  
“Yeah. After what he did last night, saving Alby after I turned and ran like a coward, even though I’m the veteran, he should be Keeper of the Runners.” That caused the explosion he’d hoped for.  
“No, Minho, Tommy isn’t bloody becoming Keeper of the Runners. I say we put in the Slammer for a day, sunrise to sunset, and after that, he can join the Runners and work with you, Minho. Can we put that to a vote?” They went around the circle. Gally grumbled but agreed.  
“What’s your problem, Gally?” Newt sighed eventually.  
“I think he should get punished more.”  
“Don’t you think his injuries are enough punishment? Let it go, Gally.” Clint said.  
“When will Thomas be able to start training?” Minho asked.  
“It’ll be at least three weeks, likely longer. It depends on how well he actually rests. And if the Creators see fit to send up anything that could speed it up.” They’d sent plaster when Newt had broken his ankle, maybe they’d send something up for Thomas’s fingers and rib now. “Minho, you should be able to leave tomorrow, but I don’t want you running until the day after, alright?” Minho nodded. After last night, he wasn’t too anxious to be back in the Maze right away.  
“Since that’s all settled, I’ll go and get some food ready for Minho and Thomas.” Frypan ducked out, and everyone save for Clint and Newt followed.  
“Minho, what are your feelings about Tommy?” Newt asked. Blunt and to the point, as always.  
“I mean he’s cute, and he’s clearly smart. He has a horrible sense of humor, though.”  
“Do you like him, Minho?”  
“Yes. He’s my friend.”  
“You know what I mean.”  
“...Maybe.” Minho admitted.  
“Good, because I think he’s got a crush on you. In fact,” Newt glanced at Clint, who was studying the wall, “When Thomas can get out of bed and walk around, I’m ordering you to take a day off and spend time with him. See what happens.”  
“That should be early next week, which leaves Minho with a couple of days of running first. I can say he had lingering injuries that became more severe with time and use.” Clint sounded bored like he helped Newt set up his friends every day. Maybe he did. Minho certainly wouldn’t know.  
"Now that that's settled, I think I'd better leave you to your rest." Newt left and Minho lay back down.  
"How badly am I hurt, Clint?"  
"Not too badly. You've got a few scratches and cuts here and there, and of course you're suffering from mild fatigue."  
"How did Thomas get injuries so much worse than mine?"  
"You made it sound like he did a lot more dodging and running than you."  
"He did. He told me he jumped from one wall to another--he'd been running across it using the vines--and that's when he felt his rib pop."  
"Probably when he broke his fingers, too."  
“Yeah.”  
“He should be waking up any minute now. He’ll likely be disoriented.” Clint warned him. Minho nodded slightly and turned his head to look at Thomas. His face was still covered in bandages, and now he had his ribs wrapped and fingers splinted.  
‘Thomas, you can wake up now. You’re safe.’ Minho tried, and to his surprise, he got a response.  
‘I know, just give me a minute. Trying to find the energy to open my eye. I’m so tired.’  
‘Well, Frypan is bringing us food, so you have to wake up for that.’  
‘Fine, fine.’ Thomas yawned and started to stretch before wincing and lowering his arms. He blinked a few times before meeting Minho’s gaze.  
“How are you feeling, Thomas?” Clint asked.  
“Sore.”  
“You’re not in pain?”  
“Nothing significant.”  
“Then I’ll leave you be for now. You’re not even leaving this bed until I say so.” Clint stayed in the room until Frypan came in with food.  
“Eat up, you two. You need it after the night you had.” Thomas’s tray was still all liquids and mushy things, Minho was amused to note. Frypan had given him six pieces of toast, plus eggs, milk, juice, a baked potato, and bacon. He’d give Thomas a slice of toast. He might be hungry, but he wasn’t going to eat all of that.  
‘When Frypan leaves I’ll give you some of my toast.’  
‘Thanks. I’m not looking forward to not being able to eat anything solid for days on end.’ Minho almost started laughing at that.  
“I’ll send someone for the trays in a while.” Frypan ducked out of the hut, and Minho got up and handed Thomas some toast.  
“Let’s enjoy our victory meal, then.” He held up his glass of juice, but Thomas just raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Victory meal?”  
‘Why don’t we just use this?’  
‘It’s tiring and we do need to be heard talking.’  
“Yes, victory meal. We survived a night in the Maze, Thomas, no one’s done that before. Now drink your applesauce.” Thomas finally shot him half of a smile.  
It was enough.  
They were going to be fine.

Thomas could have run three miles, but Clint was being mean and refused to let him leave until Minho came to pick him up for their lunch date. The Creators had sent up a wheelchair, oddly enough, and a bunch of other stuff to help him that Thomas hadn’t listened to the explanations for. He’d been talking to Minho instead.  
Well, at least the bandages were off his face now. He could eat whatever he wanted. (Newt had been telling him to think more positively. Well, maybe Thomas wanted to think about negative things instead, like how mean Clint was being.)  
“Hey, Thomas.” Minho grabbed the chair (Clint had put it on the other side of the room so Thomas couldn’t use it by himself) and helped him into it. “Ready for our date?”  
“What else do I have to get ready for?” Thomas teased.  
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a visit to the coma girl?”  
“The one who keeps mumbling in her sleep? No thanks.” She’d been out for as long she’d been there, and said nothing of import as of yet, and showed no signs of waking up. Why the Creators would send only one girl, and one in a coma at that, if they expected them to reproduce was confusing.  
Unless there was something else going on.  
‘Stop thinking so hard. This is our day together. Relax and enjoy it.’ Minho reprimanded gently. ‘I’ll let you wheel yourself when we’re in the woods. Build up your arm strength.’ Because of course Minho would think of that.  
“I’ve picked up our basket from Frypan already, mind holding it?” Thomas rolled his eyes as Minho set it in his lap. “Now let’s go eat!” Minho pushed him out to the Deadheads, then led him to a spot next to a wall.  
“Do you want to sit on the blanket or stay in your chair?”  
“Blanket.” For all that it was helpful, the wheelchair was not very comfortable.  
“Alright.” Minho got everything set up and Thomas eased himself onto the blanket. His rib protested the movement, but he didn’t care. If he and Minho were having a lunch date then he wanted to cuddle.  
“Frypan gave us some good stuff, huh?” Thomas looked through the basket, glancing up at Minho to find that he was being stared at.  
"Shuck, you're cute," Minho muttered. Thomas was just able to hear him. "Do you mind…?" He wrapped a careful arm around Thomas's waist, pulling him close.  
"You can kiss me, Minho." Thomas smiled up at him.  
They spent more time kissing and cuddling that day than they did eating.  
If anyone asked what Thomas thought of his life after that, he would say it was amazing.

(It was, for almost a year. Then the girl woke up, the sun turned off, supplies stopped coming, and the Maze stayed open at night.)  
(They lost half a dozen Gladers escaping. Even Thomas and Minho coordinating through their link couldn't save them.)  
(Life wasn't so great for a long time after that.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I apologize for the lateness of this. The last one will be up before August 18th, I think. (I'm going camping between now and then and won't have access to post.)  
> Please please please comment (like, these fics have kudos but no comments. Please tell me what you think, specially bout my drawing of Thomas. I wanted a visualization of his scars.)  
> Phoenix  
> Edit: I have tried, several times, to get the pictures in here for you to see, and it's just not working out. They are up on tumblr and Pinterest, though (nix_writes and phoenix-sage, art board)


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